


The Art of Deducing Kinky Secrets

by Kiki_L



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom Sherlock, First Time, M/M, Sub John, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki_L/pseuds/Kiki_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While at a crime scene Sherlock deduces a secret of John's that makes him think that he might just have a chance at seducing his blogger. But he needs more data. Luckily, Sherlock is very good at collecting data. Fun ensues. Messy fun. And more sentiment than either was perhaps quite prepared for. Minor casefic, but mostly relationship. Consensual interrogation scene (nothing painful).  Reichenbach does not exist, because it makes me sad and I like happy things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Deducing Kinky Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended this to be pretty much just porn, but in trying to get the scene set up, all these emotions and stuff kept cropping up, so I just went with it.

The case barely rated a 4 and yet it proved to be the most enlightening case in Sherlock's career, simply because he learned one simple fact - John Watson had a kink and he was trying very hard to hide it.

It started with a corpse- as it so often did.

"We strongly suspect the victim's ex-wife, who has been threatening and stalking him since he left her for a man, but something doesn't quite fit and we're hoping you can supply the missing piece." Lestrade explained as he unlocked the crime scene.

"Supplier of missing pieces- you should add that to your cards," John quipped irreverently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but secretly preened at John's regard. He took in the crime scene as Lestrade provided background.

"Death occurred between 4 and 7 pm. Body was found at 7:15 by the building superintendent who responded to a neighbor's reports of blood in front of the door. The ex-wife can account for her whereabouts for the entire day up until 6 pm, but could easily have gotten here during that window. But that doesn't explain the other physical evidence." Lestrade hesitated, obviously reluctant to explain.

"I take it you're referring to the fact that he'd obviously spent several hours in restraints prior to his death and his clothes are stained with urine that had obviously been there for much longer than the time frame for which your suspect was available?" Sherlock asked dismissively, but he didn't miss John’s sharp intake of breath at Sherlock's words.

"Yes, we're wondering if she had an accomplice who tied him up prior and well did other things prior to her arrival."

Sherlock scoffed. "No, she didn't. And yes she did kill him." He almost just walked out to let the Yard do their own work for once, but John was looking very strange and he needed more data, so he kept his blogger in his peripheral vision as he explained to Lestrade. "Observe the plastic sheets, the iron rings on the four poster bed, and the urine stains on some of the clothes in the hamper, as well as the extensive collection of other toys under the bed, and it's blindingly obvious that he and his boyfriend were into a variety of kinky activities including bondage and piss play."

He'd chosen the last coarser description just to test John's reaction and was pleased to see the rising color in his cheeks and the quick turning away which he suspected hid other rising problems.

"Are you saying that our victim was just happily and voluntarily hanging around after his boyfriend left still covered in... urine when his ex-wife showed up and killed him?" Lestrade sounded completely shocked. John was glaring at an innocent salt shaker as if it had stolen his favorite ugly jumper and performed chemical experiments on it. Sherlock knew that look.

"Precisely.  So glad you could catch up. I'm sure his boyfriend can confirm this. Try checking the internet for common kinks before you call me next time." He swirled his coat with an intentional flair as he swept out of the room, hearing John murmuring meaningless reassurances to Lestrade on his way out.

On the cab ride home, Sherlock watched John unobtrusively through the window’s reflection. The doctor seemed to be battling anger, embarrassment and arousal while trying to project indifference and Sherlock was fascinated. He realized that he needed to seriously reevaluate all the data in John’s room in his mind palace as soon as possible.

As soon as they returned to the flat, John escaped to his room with a transparent lie about a headache. Sherlock’s mind whirred with deductions and speculations as he watched his flatmate climb the stairs. He settled in to his chair and retreated to his mind palace to sift the clues. He entered the large room dedicated to John, tacked a large piece of paper on the wall and started a list.

  1. _John is attracted to women._
  2. _John is also attracted to men, though he never admits to it and I, frustratingly, can’t tell if he’s ever acted on it._
  3. _He has a definite watersports kink that he is very uncomfortable about and has possibly never explored with a partner. This may or may not be part of other kinks._
  4. _John watches porn on his laptop but is ridiculously thorough about erasing all traces of what he’s been watching, indicating non-standard choices he wants no chance of being discovered._
  5. _He generally experiences signs of arousal or attraction to large, very masculine men with dominant personalities._
  6. _Other than the first mild flirtation, John has not seemed particularly attracted to me._
  7. _He does, however, stay around, which no one else ever has, possibly showing some level of affection that maybe could become something more._



Sherlock stared at the list. And that was the crux, wasn’t it? Number Six and that “something more” that Sherlock desperately wanted but had convinced himself was too dangerous to try for. He’d often regretted his “married to my work” comment- his standard “reject everyone before they can reject me” maneuver. But surely, even with that, if John had been truly interested he’d have shown some other sign since then. But now there was new data leading to more questions and leading dangerously to hope.

Sherlock had questions and if there was one thing he was very good at, it was getting answers to questions. He would just need to plan his experiments very carefully to avoid destroying everything if he was wrong. Or even if he was right.

He wrote down his questions and began to plan.

  1. _Is the observed attraction to large powerful men about size or perceived dominance?_
  2. _Would an obvious show of dominance on my part trigger a latent attraction on his?_
  3. _Has he dismissed me as a potential romantic partner just because he doesn’t believe I could or would be interested in the types of sexual activities he’s interested in?_
  4. _Has he dismissed me as a potential romantic partner because he’s worried that if I get too close, I’ll deduce his kinks and he’s too embarrassed to share them with anyone?_
  5. _Is John interested strictly in watersports or is this part of a wider range of fetishes and kinks?_
  6. _Could he be interested in any type of sexual or romantic relationship with me?_



John was busy at the clinic all week, giving the detective time to research and plan. The internet was possibly too good a resource for information on kinky sex and Sherlock spent a lot of time in his mind palace trying to sort through it all and figure out what to keep and what to discard. He’d gone into the research thinking that discovering and indulging John’s kinks might be a way to win him over and keep him, but quickly began to realize that many of these things appealed to him too, at least if he imagined doing them with John.

He’d never really explored his own thoughts on sex beyond the basic needs. He never thought that he’d have anything more than the fleeting anonymous encounters he’d made do with so far in his life and never really wanted that to change. Until he’d met John. And now he wanted everything. He wanted to explore everything two people could do together, in bed and out.

He knew his goal and now thought there was a slim chance of attaining it. And so he set to making a plan.

The time was perfect. John had the next 4 days off from the clinic, having worked 2 double shifts this past week, and they hadn’t had any good cases in a fortnight, so John would be expecting his detective to be getting sulky and demanding. He smiled to himself as he realized that, yes, he was as much John’s detective as John was his blogger. He wondered if John knew that. Well, if he had his way, he’d make sure to let him know.

He sorted through his disguise clothes for the perfect outfit, planning to spend the day keeping his intriguing flatmate off-guard. He smirked as he pulled out the clothes he’d worn to infiltrate a motorcycle gang years ago. Tight black jeans, a black leather jacket with chains, matching boots, and  the one spot of color being his tight burgundy t-shirt. He looked in the mirror and shook his head at the change. Well, if he was trying to scream testosterone-laden alpha male, this was a good place to start.

He walked into the kitchen to see John still in his robe, finishing breakfast and reading the paper. He allowed himself a moment to smile fondly at his one true friend and acknowledge the feeling of warmth that just the sight of John evoked. Then he slipped on his mask of demanding expectation and said quickly, “You need to get dressed John. We’re going shopping.” He watched John as he sighed and lowered the paper taking in breath to undoubtedly argue with this pronouncement. And then he caught sight of Sherlock. And shut his mouth. And stared. And opened his mouth again. And closed it, seemingly being able to think of nothing to say to the apparition in front of him.

Sherlock crossed the few paces to John’s chair and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Get dressed John. Now.”

John roused himself from his stupor enough to mutter, “Yeah, sure, why not? I didn’t have anything else planned today. Shopping could be fun.” He was still muttering to himself as he went upstairs and Sherlock didn’t miss the stunned glances back over John’s shoulder as he went.

“So what are we shopping for? And why the… uh… leather?” John asked when he came back down, looking quite shaggable in clothes Sherlock was sure hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Sherlock noticed the almost imperceptible catch on “leather” and added a mental note to his experimental data: _John likes leather_.

“I’ve realized that there are several glaring omissions in my wardrobe of potential disguises, and since the more clever criminals seem to be on hiatus at the moment, it seemed a good time to rectify the situation. And since you have repeatedly expressed your displeasure when I walk into dangerous situations without you, it seems prudent that we ensure you are equally well-provisioned.”

“Oh. Thank you. I’m glad to know my constant safety lectures haven’t been completely deleted.” John was aiming at sarcasm, but Sherlock could see the half-hidden smile nonetheless and knew that John was actually pleased by the concession.

He decided to let some of his real feelings show and said softly, “I never delete anything you say John. I may ignore it, but I never delete it.” He smiled warmly and turned to leave the flat as John tried, for the second time that morning, to regain his composure.

In the cab, mostly recovered, John said, “I understand the shopping, but why are we dressed like this?”

With that opening, Sherlock took the opportunity to really admire the outfit John had chosen. He started at his hair, noticing that it was a little more artfully tousled than usual. Then he let his gaze linger on the ex-soldier’s still muscled torso that was so deliciously highlighted by the tight army green t-shirt he was wearing, with his dog tags displayed in a way he very rarely did unless he was trying to make a point. Sherlock wondered idly what point John was trying to make right now. As the detective’s ever-observant eyes slid down his friend’s compact form to the faded, form-fitting blue jeans, he was pleased to learn that those jeans were getting tighter the longer his gaze lingered and John’s face was flushed. When he reached the combat boots, he had to tear his gaze away to try to push back the sudden image he’d had of John bent over the kitchen table wearing nothing but those boots.

He brushed non-existent dirt off his leather jacket saying, “I was assessing the wearability of various potentially useful outfits and after trying this one on, decided it would be fun to wear it out. Variety and all that. Doesn’t pay to become too predictable. Don’t you agree?”

John laughed. “Of all the things you need to worry about in life, I don’t think predictability is on the list.”

“Glad to hear it. As to why you’re dressed like that, I’d think you’d be best suited to answer that question. Though I will say it does flatter you more than the jumpers you usually hide yourself in.”

John blushed and it took all Sherlock’s incredible strength of will not to reach over and trace the rising color with his fingers. He mumbled a “thank you,” and then turned to look out the window.

He decided that maybe he’d pushed things a little too fast this morning and needed to get John to relax for a bit, so they started with some innocuous things. After a brief argument over who would pay for things, (which Sherlock won, of course, insisting that Mycroft should pay for everything as advance preparation for future services rendered), they ended up with a pile of make-up, wigs, scarves, hats, glasses, and hair dyes.

Fully relaxed now, John merely raised his eyebrows when he was dragged in to the very expensive men’s boutique where they were both fitted first for tuxes. Sherlock had somehow never realized that John must generally avoid really looking at him, because when invited to do so, under the guise of giving sartorial advice, John certainly gave every indication of liking what he saw. This small evidence of attraction fed the bundle of hope he was trying so hard to contain.

He turned to Mr. Baird, his personal tailor, to keep from blurting out something ridiculous- like a marriage proposal on seeing John looking so handsome in his tux. “We also need riding clothes. Something appropriate for a country gentleman and his groom.”

“Groom?” John asked indignantly, as the tailor hurried off.

For a dizzying moment, Sherlock thought he had accidentally proposed marriage until he came to his senses. “Yes. Often the most nefarious crimes occur among the monied classes and so often servants have the best knowledge. It would be a perfect cover.”

“I suppose. If you’re sure it’s not just another excuse to order me about,” he grumbled, with an odd note of insincerity in the complaint.

“Since when do I need an excuse to do that?” Sherlock quipped, and this time he was sure that he caught a brief note of longing in the gaze before it was smothered.

John just grunted and went to look at some perfectly hideous golf trousers.

As usual, Mr. Baird found the perfect garments and had them outfitted in no time, right down to the boots and a riding crop. Luckily, he had other customers to deal with as well, leaving Sherlock to investigate John’s inability to keep his eyes off the crop for more than 30 seconds at a time.

“One of the key functions of a costume, John, is to help you get into the role you want to play. Clothes really do make an imprint on how you see yourself as well as how others see you. So let’s see how good these clothes are. Stand at attention as if you’re awaiting orders.” He hit the crop against his own leg with a satisfying thwack.

John’s eyes grew wide and he drew himself up with a gasp, but not into a soldier’s attention, but something slightly softer, more subservient, slightly expectant. “Sir?” he asked, tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure if it was ok to use that word.

Sherlock swallowed hard against the impulse to order him to his knees right there and feel those lips wrapped around… he put a halt to that thought and wasn’t sure if he hoped that John wouldn’t look down or that he would. He wrestled himself back into character. “Make sure you’ve got the horses fed, watered and ready to ride by 6am tomorrow or you won’t like the consequences.”

“Of course, sir,” John replied with more confidence and turned away, but not before Sherlock saw that John was just as affected by this mild role-play as he was. They were definitely buying these clothes.

He’d been planning one more trip- to a leather shop, but decided he had enough data on that topic for the moment and shouldn’t show any more of his hand just yet. He’d save that trip as a fun excursion if his plan led where he hoped it would. Besides, he’d already picked up a few interesting items when he’d scoped it out earlier in the week.

John studied him as he paid for the clothes and led them outside to get a cab. Several times he looked like he was about to speak, but then didn’t. Sherlock desperately wanted to know what John was thinking, but found that for once he really had no idea.

Though he usually disdained chatty cab drivers, he was grateful this time for the barrage of inane comments about the weather and politics to break the weighted silence between them. Though it didn’t stop the barrage of questions in his own mind. _Was he pushing too hard? Would John run from the obvious attraction building between them? Was this a superficial reaction on John’s part? Would he recoil from the thought of being romantically involved with him? Would John still want to date women if they started a relationship? How long would it take for John to get tired of him? Do I even know how to have a  relationship? How many ways are there to screw this up?If he was wrong would he ruin their friendship?_

He closed his eyes and admonished himself for the overpowering wave of insecurity. _This is John. He’s your friend. He puts up with body parts in the refrigerator. If he doesn’t want this, you can work it out together to remain friends._ He kept repeating that to himself hoping it would sink in. He was so lost in his contemplations that their arrival at 221B went unnoticed until John touched his shoulder.

Then he noticed that John was carrying bags of Indian takeaway and realized the good doctor must have ordered the food and had the cab detour to pick it up all while he was otherwise occupied. He started to head toward the house, but, noticing that John was juggling the food while fumbling for his wallet, stopped and paid the cab driver. John looked shocked for a minute, but recovered, thanking him and heading inside.

It was quickly covered, but Sherlock thought about that moment of shock. _Was it really so rare for him to perform standard acts of courtesy?_ He thought about it, searching his mind for counter-examples and realized that it was. Not a good boyfriend trait. He groaned as he threw himself into his chair. _Boyfriend – was that really what he wanted?_ He had to admit that while the word rubbed him the wrong way, the meaning behind it… yes, he wanted that. Badly. Not just the kinky sex part- though the appeal of that was certainly growing- but the commitment and exclusivity and affection that came with a broader relationship. And if he wanted it, he’d have to show John that he could be a good… partner, a slightly better word, maybe.

He realized suddenly that he was sitting here watching John get their dinners ready. Watching him do the work- like usual. He leapt up and bounded to the kitchen. “Can I help with something?”

John looked at him strangely. “Are you feeling ok Sherlock? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

“I’m fine.” He huffed and started to stalk back to his chair in defeat. But he stopped halfway there, turned and went back to the table and sat, pulling the plate John had prepared for him in front of him and digging into it.

John beamed. It always made John happy when he ate and Sherlock knew that.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes and then Sherlock said, “Thank you for the food John. I love that you always know exactly what I want.”

John blinked several times and then said simply, “You’re welcome,” in a hushed, pleased voice.

“I know it’s been a strange day and there are reasons for it, but none of them are bad. Part of it though is that…” he paused here and fought with himself about whether to continue, but he’d never been a coward and he wasn’t going to start now, though the rest of his speech was delivered while looking intently at the curry on his plate. “… I’m worried that you think I take you for granted. I know I’m rubbish at normal social things that ordinary people take for granted, but if it’s important to you, I’ll try to be better at them. But please know that even when I don’t say it, I appreciate everything you do for me. I can no longer imagine my life without you in it and that scares me, because I know I tend to drive people off. So please tell me if I’m getting close to driving you away and give me a chance to fix it.”

Silence. More silence. He risked peeking up through his lashes to see John looking completely poleaxed. “Sherlock,” he huffed, “Sherlock you brilliant bloody idiot. Don’t you of all people know that you’re the most important person in my life? I’m not going to leave. I thought you knew. Certainly all my ex-girlfriends pointed it out often enough.”

“Oh. That’s good then,” he said as a wave of relief passed through him. Standing up, he headed for the couch saying, “I think we’ve now far exceeded this week’s quota of sentiment. Shall we watch crap telly and I’ll insult your favorite shows and go back to generally being an arse about things?”

“Nothing I’d like better,” John responded, laughing, as he cleaned the kitchen and then joined Sherlock on the couch.

***

The rest of the evening was filled with mediocre television, silly arguments and a lot of laughter. And if they sat a little closer than usual and touched a little more frequently and exchanged a few uncertain glances, neither mentioned it.

***

The next morning found John staring at his ceiling wondering what today would bring. Would he have his normal Sherlock back or the new disconcerting version from yesterday? The one who made him think about things he’d carefully not been thinking about lest they show on his face.

He could admit to himself that he was bisexual, though he’d never acted on it. Women were safer. It’s not that he was afraid of the usual things like what people thought or getting attacked for being with a bloke or any of that rubbish. He let out a short laugh. If he cared about people’s opinions or was overly concerned with his own safety he certainly wouldn’t spend all his time with Sherlock. No. He was afraid of his own desires.

He wanted things from men- dark, twisted things- that he didn’t want from women. But he couldn’t really imagine trusting a man enough even to tell him what he wanted much less to actually do them. Though that was no longer quite true, was it? He could imagine it with Sherlock. He’d never trusted anyone more. But he’d buried those thoughts, since he’d had no indication that The World’s Only Consulting Detective was even sexual, much less as kinky as his faithful blogger. Until yesterday.

He’d have sworn Sherlock was flirting with him. And several of those glances should have come with fire hazard warnings. His mind pulled up the image of the riding outfit and the crop that Sherlock just wouldn’t stop… fondling. And the riding breeches that were not quite concealing a bulge that he knew had not been there before. Definitely not asexual then. But what did it all mean?

A chill went down his spine. An experiment. The git was conducting a bloody experiment, wasn’t he? That seemed the most logical explanation. The insistent erection that had been enjoying thoughts of yesterday skulked off as John let the disappointment wash over him.

Calling on years of military and medical experience, he stuffed his feelings back into a box and decided he needed to go downstairs, have some tea and pretend everything was normal. With any luck Sherlock would have moved on and would be out tormenting someone else. Though the thought of Sherlock’s attention being on anyone but him stung terribly.

After showering, he couldn’t quite bring himself to get fully dressed, so he wandered down to the kitchen in dressing gown and pajama bottoms. He did put on the red pants though. They always made him feel stronger and sexier somehow and he thought he might need that today.

Luckily, the room was empty and John relaxed, making his usual breakfast and tea and settling down to read the paper.

“Good morning, John.”

“Good morn… What the hell are you wearing?” John blurted, stunned by the vision in tight leather trousers, boots and sleeveless vest who was lounging by the door, looking pleased with himself.

“Leather. Do you like it? It seemed appropriate for today’s activities.”

“And what activities could you possibly have planned for which that is appropriate attire?” John asked bitterly. He was holding on to his anger with both hands, trying to remember that this was just an experiment for the infuriating detective. He knew if he let go of his anger for even a moment, the lust would overtake him because this Sherlock was a vision straight from his darkest fantasies.

And just like that Sherlock’s face fell and his swagger turned to a sulk. “Never mind, apparently I misunderstood,” he mumbled as he turned to go back into his room.

John’s mind whirled. “Sherlock! Get back here.” Sherlock came back slowly and slumped into the chair across from John, who got up to make him a cup tea, while trying to decide what to say next.

He pushed the cup in front of the strangely sheepish-looking detective and decided that the first question had to be, “Are you performing an experiment on me? And/or were you doing so yesterday?”

Sherlock looked confused and then his face went blank and then realization dawned. “No. Well, technically, sort of, but not really, at least not in the way you’re thinking of it, I think,” he said quickly, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words.

John felt his heart sink and his temper rise as the detective fumbled through the answer. But he took a deep breath, determined to hear his friend out, and honestly more than a little curious about what was going on. “Please explain.”

“Well, I **was** testing several hypotheses, but just because I needed to know before…” Here he stopped not seeming to know what to say next.

“Before WHAT Sherlock? What would possibly justify you toying with me to pry into my… interests to…”  He had no idea how to finish that sentence and stared at Sherlock hopelessly.

“I needed to know if I had a chance with you before I risked our friendship by telling you how I felt,” he responded in barely more than a whisper and downed his tea in one long gulp.

And didn’t that knock all the wind out of the sales of his righteous indignation. “Oh. I guess that’s ok then,” was all he could think to say. “And how do you feel?”

“At the moment I feel like an idiot. Do normal people feel like this all the time?” he whined.

John laughed. “Pretty much yeah. So ummm what was the whole leather plan anyway?”

Sherlock perked up visibly at the question. “Well,” he said slowly as he rose and walked over to behind John’s chair. He leaned down to purr directly into John’s ear. “I really need to practice my non-violent interrogation techniques and thought you could help me out with that.”

John swallowed hard. “I see. What was the plan exactly?”

Sherlock circled back around and leaned against the table, meeting John’s eyes with a hungry glint. “Hmmm…. First, I tie you to this chair. And then you think of a secret you don’t want me to know. And then I use my persuasive powers to get it out of you.”

This was madness. John knew it was madness. They hadn’t even kissed yet and here they were negotiating sexy bondage and interrogation scenes. They should slow down and discuss things first, make sure they were on the same page. He knew that, but when had life with Sherlock ever been sane? He also knew this was exactly what he’d always wanted and was in no mood to deny himself.

Throwing caution to the wind, where it seemed to live around them more often than not, he said simply, “My safe word is Dalek.”

Sherlock smiled before leaving the room silently and returning moments later with a brand new black duffel bag from which he pulled a roll of bondage tape. John had seen it enough in porn videos, but he didn’t know what it actually felt like. His nerves were jumping all over the place. Was he really going to do this? Had he actually lost his mind?

“Place your arms along the arms of the chair.”

John obeyed, still shaking, and strangely a little disappointed- he’d always imagined his hands would be tied behind his back.

Sherlock must have read the look on his face because he came over and ran a gentle finger down his cheek. “You’re going to be in this position for quite a while and I don’t want to risk aggravating your shoulder. I won’t risk harming you,” he said as he knelt down in front of the chair and pulled John’s face to him, for a brief, but searing kiss. He pulled back and looked suddenly indecisive. “I had a plan, but if I kiss you again, I don’t think I’ll be able to resist just dragging you to bed right now.”

John looked down and could feel the color rising to his cheeks. “As tempting as that is…” he hesitated. “I’d like to see what your plan was.” He closed his eyes, flushed with the embarrassment and exhilaration of his admission. Sherlock had obviously deduced some of his fantasies or they wouldn’t be here, but it felt somehow more real once he’d had to make and admit to the choice and he couldn’t pretend he was just humoring Sherlock.

He also knew that same humiliation was adding to his arousal and hoped that aspect of things wasn’t too obvious. Though he knew that obvious was exactly the word to describe his arousal at this point, since two thin layers of cotton were doing nothing to hide the eagerness of his cock.

He opened his eyes as he felt warm hands push up the sleeves of his dressing gown and the cool rubbery feel of the tape being wrapped around his arm and the arm of the chair. First the left arm and then the right, and then the legs. He was pleased to note that the tape was not at all sticky so shouldn’t be any problem to remove. He tugged a little and discovered he was quite trapped. Good.

Sherlock sifted through the contents of the mysterious bag and pulled out the new riding crop and turned back to John. “So you have a secret, do you?”

John froze. He forgot that he was supposed to be coming up with a secret. But he knew right away what it had to be. While Sherlock seemed more than willing to indulge him in this particular fantasy, he had others he had no intention of sharing.

He tried to get into the role of defiant captive, which was in fact helped by knowing this was one secret he had no desire to share. He came up with another on the spot that he could eventually use so that Sherlock would feel he’d ‘won’.  “Maybe I have a secret and maybe I don’t. Who are you to think you get to know everything about everyone?”

Sherlock untied John’s dressing gown slowly and pulled the edges apart so that John’s chest was exposed. “Oh I don’t need to know everything about everyone. Most people’s secrets are boring anyway. But you…” and here he pulled the gown off John’s left shoulder so the fabric slid behind his back, “you don’t get to keep secrets from me.” And he slid the fabric off the other shoulder.

It’s not like he hadn’t been seen shirtless before. Even around Sherlock. But suddenly he felt very exposed as Sherlock took half a step back and devoured him with his eyes. “Why?” was the only word he could get past his suddenly parched throat.

Sherlock refilled his tea and held it up to his mouth, helping him to drink the whole cup. “Why?” Sherlock echoed when the tea was gone. “Simple really. You are mine and so I get to know all of you.” John felt the truth of that down to the marrow and part of him reveled in it.

Another part was scared to death of what that would mean and fought back. “You think so do you? Prove it.”

Sherlock grinned as if he’d just been handed a locked room murder and a corpse with a rare disease- and then picked up the riding crop from where he’d set it on the table. “I intend to,” he said as he methodically trailed the crop along John’s body. He started with John’s lips and the smell of leather and the feel of the smooth cool length of it made him moan. He toyed briefly with his nipples as the crop moved south and John bit back a whimper. But he couldn’t hide his reaction or the arching of his hips as the crop just barely caressed his aching cock. He could feel the blush at the needy sounds he was making, but couldn’t seem to stop.

“Well, I’d say your body seems to be aware that it belongs to me, even if your mind is resisting.”  Sherlock knelt between John’s bound spread legs and the visual was almost more that John could take. He was worried we would come untouched and could see the wet spot spreading on his pajama bottoms. And so could Sherlock. He tutted in mock sympathy. “You’re in quite a state aren’t you? Let’s get these out of the way.” He tugged the bottoms down and his eyes widened in surprise at the tight red pants that greeted him. John had forgotten he was wearing those. He would have blushed anew, but his skin was already pink all over from arousal and embarrassment.

“Oh my. You’re just full of surprises. I had no idea you owned such a slutty pair of pants.” John groaned and his cock twitched at Sherlock’s words. How in the hell was he supposed to survive that magnificent voice talking dirty to him? He’d never have believed the mad genius even capable of such a thing.

And of course the ever observant detective picked up on the reaction right away. “Oh you like that do you? Hmmm what is it that you like? Is it me pointing out what an eager little slut you are?”

John just closed his eyes and whimpered. He was beyond being able to answer.

“Or would any old filthy language turn you on? I could tell you what I thought about your outfit yesterday. It was very sexy but I really wanted to cut it off you so that you were leaning over this table wearing only your boots, begging me to fuck you.”

“Oh god yes.” He froze. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but the image was just too much and he needed to be touched.

“I’m glad you agree. Not that it matters particularly what you want, since you’re mine. I’m sure you’re a good boy and are going to do exactly as I tell you, aren’t you?” he asked as he grabbed John’s cock and provided some welcome friction.

John just moaned and thrust his hips as much as his position allowed, which sadly wasn’t much.

Sherlock let go of his cock and moments later had the crop in hand and struck the inside of John’s thigh with an audible and satisfying *thwack*. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”

 _What question?_ John scrambled around looking for any working brain cells, but couldn’t find any. “Ummm”

Another *thwack*. “Are you going to be a good boy and do exactly as you’re told?”

 _Oh. That question._ God he wanted that. But could he really admit to that desire? It was so… he shouldn’t want it. And could Sherlock really respect him later? Treat him as an equal? He barely managed that on a good day now. Was he destroying everything by giving in to his sick fantasies? He started to panic, hoping this was all a dream and he wouldn’t have to face his best friend, having been seen like this. And then Sherlock had him. Sherlock threw down the crop and took John’s face in both hands. The feel of Sherlock steadied him.

“John, look at me.”

John looked up and saw an expression he’d never seen on Sherlock before and didn’t know how to read it.

“It’s ok. I promise it’s ok. You are the most amazing, strong, patient, kind, and wonderful person I’ve ever met. I admire, respect and adore you more than I can say. That you trust me with your life, your friendship, and now your fantasies is the most amazing gift I’ve ever received. I will never betray that trust. Or think any less of you for anything we do.” 

And then Sherlock kissed him. This kiss started tenderly and John could taste Sherlock’s excessively sweet tea on his lips. But then it turned hungry as they both tried to devour each other. John wished his hands were free so he could grab Sherlock and pull him down onto his lap. The feel of Sherlock’s long graceful fingers carding through his hair and tugging gently and then not so gently was driving him mad.

Sherlock pulled back and they both gasped for air. He followed this with an almost chaste peck of the lips and a brush of his hand over John’s cheek. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “Do you want to stop?”

The gentle concern and the reassurances steadied him and he let go of another layer of his resistance. He blushed but his voice was steady as he said, “No, I don’t want to stop. I want to…” Deep breath and a feeling of stepping off a cliff. “I want to be your good boy and do as I’m told.” He watched for the derision in the taller man’s face, but saw only relief and deep satisfaction, both of which were quickly subsumed by lust.

“You are a very good boy. I’m very proud of you.” he said while stroking John’s hair. And the simple words and calming gesture felt way better than they had any right to, in John’s opinion, but he leaned into the touch and sighed contentedly nonetheless.

“Oh my sweet doctor, there are so many dirty things I could do to you if you weren’t tied up, but you still haven’t told me your secret.”

John froze. He’d momentarily forgotten about that part of the game. He thought fast. “Yes I have. It was… you know… the good boy thing,” he mumbled shyly, still embarrassed by saying it out loud.

John was confused as Sherlock walked away and filled two glasses of water, helping John to drink one of them. He didn’t object since he was very thirsty, but thought it an odd reaction.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. “All the Dom advice online says it important to make sure everyone stays hydrated.” He sat down and sipped his own water.

That Sherlock had been researching this to make sure he got it right warmed his heart and he looked fondly at his best friend, now… lover?

That warm fuzzy feeling quickly morphed with his next words though. “You do realize I’m going to have to punish you for lying to me, don’t you? That may have been **a** secret, but it wasn’t the one you were thinking of.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock held up a hand and he stopped.

“Before you speak again, you may want to consider how much worse the punishment is likely to be if you present me the same lie a second time.” He sipped his water and looked at John, expectantly.

 _Ok, so maybe he couldn’t bluff the world’s most observant man, but that didn’t mean he’d have to tell him. He could just simply refuse._ “Fine. But you realize you can’t actually make me tell you.” he said with as much dignity as he could manage bound, half-naked and painfully aroused.

“Of course I can’t make you tell me. But you will anyway,” he replied with characteristic arrogance, that really shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was.

“Oh, I will? Why is that?”

“Because I already know what the secret is. I know what you want and I’m prepared to give it to you. But you have to ask first.” He took another long sip of water and then dropped his hand to his lap to leisurely stroke his own obvious erection through those distractingly tight leather trousers.

John’s brain raced. Was this a bluff? Could he really know? Of course, he could, this was Sherlock Bloody Fucking Holmes. He figured out everything eventually.

He stalled. “If you already know why should I tell you?”

Instead of answering right away, he rummaged in the black bag and pulled out a fleshlight, a vibrator and a bottle of lube and set them on the table. “I think the state of your cock may be inhibiting your ability to think clearly. We should do something about that.”  And with that he yanked the red pants down to join the pajama bottoms around his mid-thighs.

“Please…” He couldn’t help the plea that escaped his lips. John had never felt so exposed or aroused in his life and he wanted to be touched more than he wanted breath.

“Please what John?”

“Please. Touch me. Make me come. I need to come,” he cried. All sense of shame in begging obliterated by his desperation.  

Sherlock stroked him, but far too lightly to do anything but make him more desperate. “Such a needy slut. And so debauched with your robe thrown back and your pants pulled down.” John’s head had been thrown back and his eyes closed, so he was startled to feel the fleshlight, obviously well-lubed, slide down his cock and he shuddered with gratitude at the extra pressure.

 “Desperate little whore, aren’t you. I bet you don’t even know what you want, do you? You’d let me do anything as long as you get to come, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock slapped his thigh and repeated, “wouldn’t you?”

John moaned something he hoped would be taken as assent as he thrust harder.

And then he felt the vibrations start just below his balls and he started to come. Sherlock removed the fleshlight and grabbed his pulsing cock. He thought his heart might just burst from the pleasure and he was surprisingly ok with that.

Once he gained enough coherence to open his eyes again, he saw that Sherlock was sitting in front of him staring fixedly at his cupped hand which was full of cum. He had the bizarre thought that the detective was about to analyze the contents and was about to laugh when two long slender finger from the other hand dipped into the pool of cum and then dragged the sticky substance over John’s left nipple. This was repeated with the other nipple and John watched entranced as his torso was slowly and deliberately painted with his own cum.

“You’re a very dirty boy John. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my hand,” Sherlock said at last, holding his hand up to John’s face. “Lick it off.”

If he were a younger man, he thought, he’d be hard again at that command. He licked his hand clean while Sherlock continued to murmur filthy words in his direction. He tried to memorize every detail, knowing he’d be wanking to the memory of today for a long time.

Then, without preamble, Sherlock stood, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, lowering them just enough to pull out his cock. He poured some lube into his hand and started stroking slowly, despite the fact that he had to be desperate by now. John was mesmerized. When he’d imagined it, and he had done so on occasion, he’d always pictured Sherlock’s cock as long and slender, graceful, like he was. Well, it was certainly long, but far thicker than John would have expected. The thought of it inside him made his arse clench and his cock twitch optimistically.

“You can’t take your eyes off my cock. Do you like what you see? Are you imagining it inside you?”

“Yes. I.. I want you to fuck me. I want to feel it. I want to taste it.” John said, far past any ability to lie about how much he wanted that.

“Have you ever had sex of any type with a man before?” Sherlock asked, panting now as he sped up.

“No. I want you to be my first. With everything.” John said sincerely.

Sherlock grabbed John by the hair and pulled his face to within an inch of his own. “Not just your first. Your only. You are mine. Do you understand?”

Possessive Sherlock was possibly the hottest Sherlock yet, John thought muzzily as he replied, “Yes, yours.”

Sherlock stood up and started stroking faster. Breathlessly, he said, “I’m going to come on you John. I’m either going to come on your chest or your face, but it’s up to you. You have to tell me which you want. No, you have to ask me for what you want. Decide quickly, my dirty little slut, because I’m close.”

John tried to sound indifferent as he replied, “It’s up to you.” But the image of Sherlock covering his face with cum was now in his head and he knew which he really hoped for.

“Well if you don’t care, I’ll just finish up in the bathroom then. Less messy if I shoot into the toilet,” he said, casually and took his hand off his cock.

“No!” John shouted as he tried to lean forward to grab Sherlock forgetting his hands were still bound. “I want to see you come. Please.” He swallowed his saliva and his pride. “Please come on my face. I want you to.”

Sherlock kissed him. “Such a good boy. Such a good, dirty boy.”

He grabbed his cock again and within five strokes, John was getting the reward he’d begged for. He felt filthy and slutty and utterly depraved as the warm cum hit his cheeks and nose and lips. And he loved it every bit as much as he thought he would. He’d kept his eyes closed and opened them when he felt hands on his cheeks rubbing cum in and around and then running through his hair making sure he was a thorough mess.

Sherlock tucked his cock away and righted his clothing. Then, oddly, he did the same to John, though leaving him bound. Then he sank back into his chair and looked at John expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to untie me now?” John asked quizzically.

“Of course not. You still need to tell me your secret. You should be able to think more clearly now and come to the logical conclusion.”

John sighed. “Well, we’re going to have to continue this later, because right now I need to pee.”

“I’m sure you do. So do I and you’ve had more to drink than I have,” he said matter-of-factly, but gave no indication he was going to move.

They stared at each other. And John slowly put the pieces together. The water and tea weren’t merely about hydration. And Sherlock said he already knew. John took the time to really study Sherlock. He didn’t seem at all disgusted, he seemed more expectant and almost eager. But then the memory of Lestrade’s disgust when hearing about that couple’s kinks at the case last week popped into his head and he shut down any thoughts of sharing his desires.

Another light bulb went off. That case. That must have been when Sherlock started to suspect. But it was still just a suspicion. As brilliant as he was, he wasn’t omniscient and if John just refused to admit it, Sherlock couldn’t prove otherwise.

“John, has it slipped your mind that I frequently store body parts in the refrigerator?” Sherlock asked.

The question was so unexpected and seemingly irrelevant that John just blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds, before he answered, “I admit that your more disturbing storage habits were not currently at the top of my brain, but I hadn’t precisely forgotten them. I’m at a bit of a loss as to why you’re mentioning it now, however. I assure you that I have no interest in necrophilia of any sort.”

Sherlock laughed. “Neither do I, despite the rumors, but I assure you there was a point to the statement.”

He started to squirm as it became apparent that the bathroom situation was becoming more urgent and not being able to close his legs made the situation harder. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

And he realized with a start that he was enjoying Sherlock watching him squirm. He knew he could stop it all with his safe word, but he admitted to himself, at least, that he wanted this. He knew that Sherlock would keep him here until he lost control and wet himself unless he called a stop to it. And that thought made him squirm in a different way.

He realized suddenly why Sherlock had fixed his clothes back up. So that he’d wet them and not just himself. The utter humiliation of sitting here and pissing in his clothes in the middle of the kitchen while Sherlock watched… How many times had he wanked to images like that? And it was about to happen. As long as he did nothing to stop it. And Sherlock knew. The bloody git knew how much he wanted this. He’d set it up so that John would have to be complicit in his own humiliation.

Why was Sherlock doing this? Why wasn’t Sherlock repulsed by his suspicions about John’s disturbing kinks. _Disturbing. Oh, that’s what he was trying to say. Would a man who regularly stored human remains in the refrigerator really be likely to be bothered by something as pedestrian as urine?_

At that realization, John gave in. He wanted it too badly to fight it anymore.

“I can’t hold it much longer Sherlock. Please untie me.” But he didn’t mean it and they both knew it. He did notice that he wasn’t the only one shifting uncomfortably in his seat though.

“Just let go John. It’s alright.” Sherlock said soothingly as he stood and started to undo his trousers.

He let go and the relief was incredible as the warmth started to flood his clothes. Only one thing would make this better he thought and finally blurted it out, “Piss on me Sherlock, please.”

He watched as the amber liquid cascaded down his chest joining the growing wetness at his crotch.

It was warm and pungent and unnervingly intimate. He met Sherlock’s eyes feeling exposed down to the soul. The acceptance, possessiveness and love shining back at him was too much for him to handle and he started to struggle in his bonds, overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil and intensity of the last two days.

Before he even knew what was happening, his bonds had been sliced off and he’d been pulled on to Sherlock’s lap. His brilliant, maddening, usually emotionally oblivious detective was holding him, and petting him, and peppering his face with kisses, while whispering praises and endearments. “Good boy. So good for me. So beautiful when you let go. Such a mess we’ve made. A wonderful, filthy mess. Mine. Only mine.”

John let himself just be held for a while, revelling in how good it felt to be held and protected and cherished. Not to have to be strong. Not to have to hide anything. He finally subsided and started to pay attention to the world around him.  “Sherlock, I’m making a mess of your sexy leather outfit.”

He smiled. “I got a leather cleaning kit. You can use that for today, though in the future if you make a mess of my leathers, I may just make you lick them off.  But for now, throw your clothes in the washer and you should clean the kitchen before Mrs. Hudson finds it like this. Then we can take a shower.”

John looked around and shivered with arousal at the scene of their debauchery. He was very aware of Sherlock watching him as he went about following his orders. The sound of Sherlock stripping off his leathers sent another shudder of desire through him. He turned from gathering the cleaning supplies to see Sherlock leaning casually against the doorframe naked and idly stroking his half-hard cock. He froze, unable to take his eyes from the sight.

Sherlock smiled lazily and said, “the sooner you finish cleaning, the sooner we can be in the shower and I can introduce you properly to my cock. I believe you expressed an interest earlier in getting better acquainted?”

John had never cleaned so fast in his life, despite the fact that cleaning the kitchen naked felt very strange, and deliciously perverse. Add the thoughts of that to the feeling of the combination of his and Sherlock’s bodily fluids all over his body, the memories of what they’d just done and the anticipation of what they might do next, he was well and truly aroused by the time they climbed into the shower together.

Expecting more sex games, John was startled by Sherlock’s tender ministrations in the shower. The detective was gentle and almost reverent as he carefully washed John from toes to head. And John was floating on the feelings of those long, talented fingers getting to know every part of him. And the sensual care with which the taller man washed and rinsed his hair left him languid and peaceful. And then the practical part of his brain kicked in and he began to worry. “What happens next?” he asked, trying not to let on how important the answer was to him.

“Of what time scale are we speaking?” he asked with full consulting detective precision. “In the next five minutes I was planning on you washing me. And in several billion years the sun will turn into a red giant, almost certainly destroying the earth. Or were you asking about something in between?”

John just stared at him incredulously.

“What? It’s your own fault for making me learn about the solar system.” Sherlock said placidly, handing him the soap and washcloth.

John laughed and shook his head, relieved to see that some things really hadn’t changed, even if the ridiculous conversations were now happening naked and in the shower. But he still wanted his answer, so he took a deep breath and tried again, thankful that he could use the excuse of needing to wash Sherlock’s back to not have to face him while doing so. “I meant what happens next with us? How will things change between us? Will they change?” He enjoyed the smooth lines of Sherlock’s back, running the cloth from shoulder to knees, hoping this would not be his only chance to do so.

Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed him. And then they both yelled and scrambled for the taps as the water turned cold on an instant. They both started giggling and then laughing so hard they had to hold each other up. “I think we’re clean enough,” Sherlock gasped through the laughter.

They dried quickly and made their way to Sherlock’s room through unspoken consent, wherein Sherlock pulled him, unprotesting, under the covers and into his arms. “What happens next is up to both of us, I suppose. What do you want to happen?”

“You said I was yours. Did you mean that or was is it just part of the.. um.. game?” John asked nervously into Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock pulled back a little and tipped John’s head back with a finger under chin so that they were eye-to-eye. “I meant it. You are mine for as long as you want to be. And I promise I will never take that for granted.”

John’s heart caught in his throat. “Oh. And are you mine as well?”

At this Sherlock smiled wistfully, “I’ve been yours from the first time I saw you and the sun will burn out long before that changes.”

At this all John’s fears faded and he pulled Sherlock in for a kiss to try to express how much he returned that sentiment.

Sherlock pulled back a little for breath. “John, there are so many wonderful, kinky, nasty things I want to do to you…”

John moaned and rubbed his hardening cock against him in approval.

“And eventually I promise to do them all, but would you mind if this first time…” he hesitated.

John looked up at him inquiringly, “after everything you just did to fulfill my unorthodox fantasies do you really think you need to worry about telling me what you want?”

He smiled wryly, “I just don’t want you to think I’m boring.”

At this John laughed loudly, “Boring? You? I could think of many adjectives that would apply to you and I promise that boring is not on the list. Just tell me.”

“After all that, now it sounds kind of stupid to ask,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I just wanted our first time to be… well… more sweet than…. playing. Argh! I’m not good with sentiment. I just.. I want to make love to you. Ok?”  He said with a sigh as he threw himself onto his back muttering and closing his eyes, “Well that had to be the least sexy invitation ever.”

John rolled over so that he was sprawled halfway across his new lovers’ body. “I’d beg to differ on that. And yes. That sounds perfect.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at John and pulled him in for another sweet kiss, pulling back to say, “one more boring question and then I promise to ravish you. Condoms?”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, reading the promises and assurances there, and John said simply, “no.”

At this, Sherlock’s gaze turned heated and he flipped John onto his back and reached to the side table for the bottle of lube.

Time then ceased to have any meaning for John. Certain moments seemed to last for ages and he knew, for example, that he would never forget the feeling the first instant he felt Sherlock’s cool, slick fingers breach his body. But then he was lost to a blur of images and sensations. Fingers caressing and probing. Lips on his. Mouth on his neck. Teeth on his nipples. The brief pain of being entered, taken, claimed. Pain becoming searing pleasure. The sense of fullness, completion. Cries, moans, pleas, that he wasn’t sure belonged to him or not. Pleasure that was almost too much to bear, boiling over, washing him away until he was crying out the only truth he knew. Sherlock! Hearing his pleasure echoed in the cry of his own name. And then sated, quiet bliss, lying in each other’s arms.

At long last he came back to himself and opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring at him with a look of complete awe.

"What are you thinking?” John asked, mesmerized.

“I’ve just never really understood before now all of the crazy, stupid things people do for love. Now I do,” he said, voice filled with a wonder John had never heard in it before.

His heart soared. And if only for a moment, life was perfect. “I love you too Sherlock.”

John was just about to drift off to sleep when Sherlock whispered in his ear, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I still owe you a punishment.”

John had very sweet dreams that night.


End file.
